Author's Note: Because you are all such awesome readers, here is the next chapter! :D I hate to say it but we're getting close to the end, and what a ride it will be! ;-)
Thandie Newton as Ororo Munroe (Storm)
Anyone else who might show up is X-Men: First Class casting. ;)
Chapter Twenty-Six
Xavier's School for the Gifted
Ororo Munroe, otherwise known as Storm to both friend and enemy, stood to the side as the Blackbird came in for a landing, wind barreling through the hanger but having little effect on the Weather Witch. It wasn't long after the plane touched down, the pilot cycling her engine, that the hatch opened and a troubling sight emerged.
A tall figure came jogging down the ramp with a woman lying across his arms.
"Gambit? Storm question as she met him halfway through the hanger bay, staring down at the white striped woman she had fought against on a fair few occasions.
"She passed out on da plane," he answered, not stopping. "Da voices, she's trying to contain dem and deir powers."
"This way," the regal woman veered him towards an elevator which would take them into the medical facility below the mansion. "The Professor and Hank are ready for her."
He nodded, clutching the woman tightly as they entered the elevator. Storm had known the kinetically gifted thief for several years and this was hardly the first time he had brought a troubled mutant to the school to be cared for. This was, however, the first time said person was a known enemy of the X-Men. Still, the Professor never turned down anyone who needed help and if Gambit believed this woman was in such dire straits, then Storm would not be the one to argue, simply keep a watchful eye.
And watchful it was, noticing the way he kept glancing down at her as if she was going to disappear from his arms at any moment. Could this have anything do with recent events, the rumors that had been going around?
"I heard about Henri," she said softly, "I am truly sorry for your loss."
Glancing up at her, he offered a small smile, "Thank you, Stormy."
He called her Stormy, that was a good sign. If he called her by her proper name or call sign then she'd really start to worry.
The elevator doors opened and Storm lead them down the hall to one of the more isolated med rooms. The Professor was already there, sitting in his wheelchair next to the solitary bed while Hank McCoy, the Beast, stood off to the side behind several computer monitors which looked tiny in comparison to his bulky blue figure.
"Lay her down, please, Gambit," Xavier gestured to the flat bed and the thief did as he asked. Storm noted that her friend was wearing full gloves, not his usual biker ones, as he tipped Rogue's head to straighten her neck, brushing the hair from her face.
"Ororo," Hank called her over, holding two electrodes in his hands, "if you would be so kind and put these on Miss Rogue's temples."
Grabbing two latex gloves, she slipped them on before taking the items. The Professor moved behind the head of the bed, closing his eyes, already using his telepathy to get a reading on the woman's state of mind. Storm placed the electrodes on her temples as asked, noting the painful creases at the corners of her eyes and mouth where the Brotherhood mutant clenched against whatever she was fighting in her mind.
"Quite remarkable," Hank said moments later once the readings filtered through the computers.
"That good or bad?" Gambit asked and Storm took note that the man elected to stay instead of going on his way already.
"It seems," the Beast adjusted the glasses perched precariously on his nose, "in layman terms, that Miss Rogue has more than one brain pattern, several in fact, all layered on top of each other."
"Da voices," the thief said.
"Likely," Hank tapped away. "There are three very strong patterns and then several more of lower but varying intensity. It would seem that when Miss Rogue absorbs someone, she keeps more than just a voice of that person, but a complete imprint of their psyche."
"I could have told you dat," he rolled his eyes. "How do we shut dem up?"
"It's more than that," the scientist continued on unperturbed. "If she was unintentionally recalling powers she hadn't absorbed in years then that means the psyches must be somehow taking dominance over her own."
"What?" Gambit looked back and forth between the unconscious woman and Hank. "She's in control, she's always been in control, she's never not been Rogue."
"The psyche is composed of several parts, not just the waking mind," Hank pointed out, "and a mutant's powers are but one layer of their psyche. If this is getting worse, as you say, then it's only a matter of time before the psyches gain control of her conscious."
"And if they do?" the thief asked cautiously.
"I… don't know," Beast admitted. "It's possible nothing severe would happen, but more than likely she would either go catatonic… or fly into a schizophrenic rage. If she is able to regain the powers she absorbed all at once without her sanity intact… the results could be apocalyptic."
The room went silent for a moment as the weight of the man's words fell on all of them. They had never known Rogue to attempt to recall powers of her own accord before, not during one of their many battles, and they assumed she couldn't, but now they knew different. With the powers came the voices and too many cooks in the kitchen…
"I ask again," Gambit said coldly, "how do we shut dem up?"
"First," the Professor got their attention, "we discover what has stirred them into action."
The telepathic mutant gestured to the box of latex gloves on the table and Storm fetched it for him as she pointed out, "We've fought Rogue for years, she's never showed signs of having troubles controlling this part of her mutation. On the contrary, she has, on occasion, showed better control over the powers than the original mutant she absorbed them from."
"Yes," he took two of the gloves and slipped them on, "that had not gone unnoticed."
"But not always," Gambit offered, "she couldn't time delay da cards after she absorbed me."
All three mutants looked at the thief and again Storm had to wonder how much of the rumors were true. St. Petersburg, New York, Tokyo, Jordan… he had been in New Orleans when he called. Could the consummate lady's man have actually hooked up with the untouchable Rogue as the water-cooler gossip among the mutant community seemed to suggest?
Very few knew Gambit as well as Storm did, how he had a respect for women that belied his reputation. This made his actions all that more confusing… and very interesting.
"That's technique," the Professor pointed out, "did she have the troubles you did when your mutation manifested? Charging items without meaning to? Being unable to control the level of the charge?"
"No," he frowned, "not dat I know of. I was kinda passed out for most of it."
"Well," Xavier was much too polite of a person to question further and turned back to the patient, "normally Rogue is unreadable to telepaths, the sheer amount of noise created by her psyches enough to drown out her own thoughts and hide her mind."
"Normally?" Storm caught the word.
"The psyches seem to be fixated on a central point, Rogue's own psyche," he placed his now gloved hands on the sides of Rogue's face. For a telepath, skin to skin contact was the best, but with that not an option, this was good as it got. "I believe I can trace their path and make contact, speak to Rogue on a telepathic level and help her settle the psyches."
"Would you like me to get Jean?" Storm asked as the man closed his eyes.
"Thank you, Ororo," he took a long breath, "but I don't believe that will be necessary."
She was about to ask if he was sure but his breathing evened out and his head dipped a little, he was already gone into a psychic trance.
…
White noise, static, grey mist, all these words could describe what Rogue's mind looked like to a telepath. With so many psyches all bunched together, each jabbering on constantly, the sounds were reminiscent of a major sports stadium after the home team won the big game and then trying to find a pin drop amongst the noise. The fact that the woman could function with so much going on up there was a testament to her resolve.
Charles shouldn't have been too surprised at this, after all, even though Erik and Raven fell on opposite sides of mutant ideology, they were never ones to teach cowing down to one's mutation, but instead embracing it and overcoming it. What great things they could have accomplished if events had gone differently all those years ago…
Now was not the time to think on such things, a mutant needed help and although she was technically the enemy, that was hardly the point.
Delving deeper the mist began to clear, wooden porch steps appearing in front of him as his mind attempted to translate what he was seeing on a psychic level into something tangible for his conscious to relate to. Walking up the steps, a stone paved porch was laid out in front of him. This lead up to a simple front door of wood with a cut and frosted glass window inset.
That's when he felt them, thousands of eyes watching him. Turning around, Charles mentally shrieked in terror. Before him was a typical front lawn but it seemed to stretch on forever till inky darkness, and every inch of it was covered in ghosts.
Hundreds of figures stood like statues, translucent to varying degrees though none solid, all facing towards the porch. Some were obviously mutants, even ones he recognized such as Storm, Banshee, Emma Frost and Azazel, but others were human, again, those he knew like Moira. Each one had a blank expression on their face, shades of their former selves.
Movement caught his eye and there were more standing on the porch next to him. Pyro, QuickSilver, Havok, and Gambit among several others. As transparent and blank as they were, they looked at him as if questioning his existence before turning back towards the house.
"This isn't creepy at all," Charles couldn't help mutter against his good nature. As a telepath he understood the uneasy reality of being in another person's mind, seeing and feeling as they do, but to have those thoughts and emotions forever etched into his?
Yes, Raven had taught her adopted daughter well how to cope, he would expect nothing less from his adopted little sister.
Taking the door handle, it turned but the door was jammed. Putting his back into it, which was nothing more than an analogue for pressing his psyche against Rogue's, he eventually popped through the door, literally. Phasing through the barrier he encountered a rather normal looking home.
The entry area was decent sized, a stairway leading up over a hallway to the back. A living room was off to the right through an archway with sliding doors. It was cozy looking in a very southern red-neck kind of way with muted colors and a mounted fish above the fireplace.
To the left was a kitchen, pale yellow as if it came out of the 60s, a simple metal card table for a dinner table. Sitting on one of the chairs, legs dangling, a young blonde boy, couldn't been more than thirteen or fourteen, played with a pile of Legos. He was completely solid, humming away as he created what looked like a sword.
Curiously, Xavier took a few steps towards the boy, unsure why such a person would be there. Could he represent part of Rogue's psyche?
The kid looked up at him when Charles stepped onto the threshold of the kitchen, "You're new," his eyes narrowed for a moment as if seeing through him. "Skunk Head didn't absorb ya, how'd ya get in?"
"I…" he was put off balance for a moment at the boy's words, unsure what they meant. Well, he figured out the skunk part pretty easily. "I found my own way."
"Huh," the blonde shrugged then went back to playing, "well, welcome ta tha neighborhood."
As he formulated a reply, a crashing sound from upstairs caught his attention and he looked up in time to see Rogue rushing down the stairwell, taking three steps at a time.
"You!" she hissed when she saw him, skidding to a stop after the bottom step.
"Rogue, I'm here to help—" he started to say but more footsteps pounded above and with a shushing noise Rogue hid just inside the kitchen entrance.
A woman Xavier hadn't spoken to years, a friend sorely missed, came running down the stairs, just as shocked to see him. "Charles!" Carol's eyes narrowed at him just as the boy's had and he marveled at how young she looked, just like the last time he had seen her awake. "Oh, good, you're here, you can help knock some sense into this girl."
"Carol, I—" again his words were cut off as Rogue launched out from her hiding spot at the woman who was solid, unlike the ghosts outside.
Carol was caught off guard and defended two blows before Rogue was able to get a roundhouse kick against her. The former Air Force officer went flying across the entry hall into the living room, knocking over the sofa as she tumbled to the ground. With a wave of Rogue's hand, the sliding doors closed and locked.
"Yah got ten seconds, Professor," Rogue spouted angrily at him, her body trembling and he noticed the faint bruises that colored along the side of her face and traveled down into the neckline of the ballet shirt she wore.
"Gambit brought you to me to help you, Rogue," he said calmly, not wanting to aggravate her further. "The psyches you absorbed are attempting to take over your body, if they do that, the results could be catastrophic."
"I know that!" she bit out, pointing to the door behind him, the psyches just beyond, "I keep stopping them but she…" Rogue hand swung to the closed door and he noted she wasn't wearing gloves inside her mind, "she keeps inciting them!"
His friend was the reason Rogue's mind had been turned upside down? "Carol wouldn't do that."
"Oh, she would," there was spite layered in her voice. "She's had years ta plot her revenge against me but it was an accident, I didn't mean ta hold on that long."
"I know it was an accident, Rogue," by simple virtue that the woman had never repeated the incident even though it could make her very powerful, "I'm sure she does too, and also, vengeance is not in her nature," he argued, questioning his assumption. If Carol had been a prisoner here all this time, what could that have done to her psyche?
"Then why else would she do this?" the woman laughed as if she had nothing left. "She's been trapped in here for years and it's finally made her snap!"
Charles took a second to look between the front door and the closed doors to the living room and something occurred to him. "Rogue, I may be able to wake Carol up."
She blinked, "Yah what? Emma said that was impossible. Carol's stuck here. She merged with my psyche and it's impossible to draw her out without destroying both our minds in tha process."
"Yes," he mused, rubbing his chin as he went over the details in his mind, "she is, but Miss Frost has never seen inside Carol's mind since the accident. I believe I could use the Carol that's in here as a template to reconstruct what's left inside Carol's body."
"Reconstruct?" Rogue questioned, thinking it over. "Like a recovery disk on a computer?"
"Something like that, yes," he gave her a faint smile. "I can't promise it will work but it's worth a try."
The woman's eyes widened ever so slightly, an overwhelming sense of hope filling the area. She turned to gaze at the boy in the kitchen, "Cody…"
The doors to the living room flew open violently and Carol stood purposefully, stretching her neck and shoulders to get the kinks out. "Right, let's try this again."
"Back off, Danvers!" Rogue barked at the woman.
"I'll back off when you start listening to me!" she snapped, getting just as defensive.
The two began to slowly round on each other, "Tha Professor here has a way ta wake yah up, yah don't have ta do this anymore."
Carol paused, her eyes going straight to him, "You can get me out of here?"
"Well," he thought about lying but that would only make matters worse for Rogue in the long run and that would do none of them any good, "no, but I believe I may have a way to wake up your body. Let you, her, move on with the rest of her life."
Carol took a moment to consider his words before nodding in understanding. She'd never be free of her prison but there was hope for her body, that it could be brought out of its living death. Turning back to Rogue, "That's what you think this is about?"
"Isn't it?" Rogue questioned.
"Heaven's no, girl," she patronized the younger woman, "I want what I've always wanted but you never listen to me!"
"Oh really," Rogue scoffed, the women too much alike to see each other rationally, "if yah just wanted ta talk then maybe yah shouldn't have sent tha Shades after me!"
"I was trying but you weren't listening!" Carol shouted in exasperation.
"Ladies, please," Charles tried to get between them before another fist fight broke out.
"Ah, they're always like that," the boy spoke up from the kitchen.
"Not helping!" both Carol and Rogue shouted at the kid at the same time.
"See," he giggled and returned to his Legos, pulling apart two stubborn bricks.
"Carol, Rogue," Charles said as calmly as he could, "let's step back for a moment here."
Both of them glared at him but at least they weren't yelling at each other anymore.
"Now," he cautiously continued, "Carol, you obviously have something you want to say to Rogue. Rogue, could you please humor me and listen to what this is?"
The red head raised one eyebrow at him, "Humor yah?"
"Gambit brought you to me," Charles pointed out again, "he believed I could help. Do you trust his judgment?"
She chewed on her lip for a second before turning back to Carol. "Fine, talk, but if it's more of yah anti-Brotherhood crap I had my fill of that years ago."
"I've always wanted what's best for you," Carol shook her head sadly, "for you to see the truth in the lies."
"Hah," Rogue rolled her eyes and started to storm off.
"I have proof now!" the blonde shouted.
"Proof," the other woman scoffed.
"Yes," Carol stepped forward, "let me show you. Let me bring in a Shade, listen to what it has to say."
"What, more boy scout propaganda?" Rogue gestured to Charles.
"Rogue," while he would be more inclined to side with Carol, whatever form she was in, he attempted a more diplomatic approach. "At least listen to what the… Shade has to say, it doesn't mean you have to believe it. This way Carol can be satisfied and end her attacks. Right, Carol?"
The blonde took a second but ultimately nodded, "Just listen Rogue, that's all I ask."
Rogue was not as quick to concede, her form still trembling and tired from the constant battle, ever so worn. Eventually she sighed, "Alright, I'll listen, just ta shut yah up."
Smiling softly, Carol headed to the front door but didn't make any move to open it. Instead, one of the translucent Shades materialized inside the entry hall. It stood blankly, unaffected by the world it was brought into.
"Why him?" Rogue practically shouted as soon as he appeared.
"Because you trust him," Carol answered as she came around the form. "You care about him and respected his privacy, letting his memories slip into the abyss without so much as a glance."
"Of course I did," the red head was now visibly upset, brow furrowed and body trembling, obviously regretting her decision.
"There are truths in his memories, Rogue," Carol said softly, beckoning the other woman forward, "ones that you need to see."
Rogue shook her head, standing firmly away from the Shade. "No."
"You agreed to listen," Charles said as politely and tactfully as possible.
"It's a trick," the woman argued.
"Oh, grow up, Skunk Head!" the boy hollered from the kitchen. "Stop being such a scaredy cat!"
"I am not a scaredy cat!" she shouted back at him.
"Yeah, ya are!" he laughed.
"Fine!" she let out an exasperated growl and stomped forward to stand in front of the Shade. "Yah have something ta say," she placed her bare hands on the sides of Saint-John Allderdyce's translucent face, "then say it."